Shades of the Sky
by CodeVassie
Summary: Francis has a month until his life of freedom is snatched away once again just as it is every year. Surely one date with Matthew won't hurt... surely one month wasn't long enough to get him attached... surely Francis couldn't fall in love. /CanFran
1. Cloudy to Clear

_**A/N:**_ ** _Hi! I hope you enjoy this because I certainly had a fun time writing it!_ _This is my first time writing CanFran and I'm sorry if the characters seem a little OOC. Also, I do not know what Paris is like, so excuse the inevitable inaccuracies._**

 ** _I wrote this for_** _matthewwillcanada **'s fanfiction contest on Tumblr. This blog has amazing fanart and you all should check it out!**_

 _ **This fic will have five chapters and will be updated daily until it is complete. You all will be receiving the version I sent in for the contest, so I'm sorry that it is not fully edited. Thanks for reading and enjoy!**_

* * *

 _The shades of the sky always reminded him of Matthew..._

Francis was folding the same t-shirt for the fourteenth time as he gazed out the window. He wasn't exactly aware of his insistent folding and unfolding, as his eyes were on the streets of the city he loved. The sky was blue and a few puffy clouds passed by like giant parade floats. Those clouds were pretty big; did that imply that rain would be in its wake?

 _Splendide_. Just another thing to dampen Francis' mood, along with the empty streets of Paris outside of the little souvenir shop he worked at. The streets had been previously packed with tourists only a few weeks prior- overflowing even- but now the summer months were over and so the tourist season was coming to a temporary close. The city of love had become a city of abandon and Francis was stuck in the middle of it.

Francis sighed as he looked down at the t-shirt he was folding. Like most of the rest, this one depicted an image of the Eiffel Tower. The store that he worked at was almost in the very heart of the city. It was the perfect place to sell these cheap t-shirts and those souvenir magnets and maps and postcards where the tourists wandering around just couldn't miss it. That was, if there were actually tourists to buy them.

Now that tourist season was over though, the store was desolate, littered in dusty bobbles on shelves and neatly folded shirts that said "I [heart] Paris!" or " _C'est la Vie_ " or variations of designs dedicated to the city. Francis should have felt accomplished having finally organized the shelves after their usual chaotic mess during the summer months when customers would carelessly put things back in the completely wrong place, but instead Francis was already missing the hectic work that came with the souvenir searching tourists.

Francis loved Paris. It was his home. It was his heart. But, without the love of the many people who visited it, the city got awfully lonely. It was as if the city itself was depressed- a sense of melancholy that made Francis wonder if a city could have seasonal affect disorder.

Perhaps it was just Francis. Despite its reputation, Paris actually got more rainfall per year than London, so it wasn't everyday Francis saw the sun. The sky had been grey for days, only letting the current shade of blue out today, though Francis doubted it would last very long. Francis peered over at the scenic French themed calendar that hung on display on the far wall. Thursday. That's right, Francis had seen that on his own calendar this morning as he had been sipping his coffee at his round breakfast table. He lived in a small apartment, though, so the compact table made up his placement for lunch and dinner too, as long as he was eating at home. Not that he needed a fancy dining room table or anything. He rarely ever invited people over for dinner.

Suddenly, the small 'ding' of the shop's bell chimed and Francis set down the blue shirt he had been folding over and over again. When he looked up he let a pleasant smile grace his features, ready to charm whomever had stumbled into the shop, hoping perhaps it would be a stray tourist, oblivious to the social standard of taking holiday during the summer months.

A man was standing at the entrance, peering around the shop from his fixed position on the quaint 'Welcome' mat- or should he say ' _Bienvenue_ ' mat- by the door. Francis looked over him, realizing, disappointingly, that the man could not be a tourist going by his casual dress.

" _Bonjour_." The man spoke quietly. He was dressed in a simple pair of jeans and a red flannel shirt. His hair was blonde, like Francis', but shorter than his own which sat at shoulder length. Francis could not see the man's eyes from across the store, but was already curious to find out. There was always something about people's eyes that Francis enjoyed seeing. They were like thumbprints, no two alike. Some were light brown and some bright green. Some were so dark that they hid every emotion and some so enlivening that every secret danced across for all to see. Some could hide their secrets to all but that one person in the world who could read them like a book.

Most of the sets of eyes Francis saw in this shop were excited or joyful as they toured the famous city and explored the secrets that it had to offer. Some he saw were rather stressed about picking out souvenirs for loved ones back home or dealing with the crowded areas. Francis always assured these customers to relax; they were on vacation after all. He helped people pick what to purchase, promising them that whatever they got would be perfect because it not only came from them, but from the wonderful city of Paris!

But the man Francis examined from across the store couldn't have been looking for a souvenir... perhaps he was in need of directions? It was not uncommon for one of the city's inhabitants to ask for directions from one of the souvenir shops during the off-season. The employees of such shops prided themselves on knowing the city like anyone may know their own identity.

" _Bienvenue_." Francis replied in his native tongue, "How may I be of assistance?" Francis rarely bothered with English, though he was fluent. It wasn't only that he preferred French, but for the fact that, on many occasions, the Frenchman forgot how to speak the second language altogether. Besides, it was obvious that this man understood his words anyway.

Francis walked between a shelf full of snow-globes and a table of even more Parisian decorated shirts to reach the space of open floor at the front of the shop. When he was standing in front of the man he realized he had to incline his head just the tiniest bit to look him in the eyes.

His eyes... they were purple. How to describe them? Lilac? Mauve? Violet? Francis blinked and had to look again, but now that he saw it he knew he couldn't have been mistaken. It was a very soft color- one that could have been easily mistaken for blue- and Francis was sure many before him must have made that very assumption. The man's eyes seemed wary, as if unused to being noticed, and he looked uneasy for the slightest second before the appearance flicked to a mild embarrassment. Francis felt like he could hear the thoughts going on in the man's head. 'Of course the man noticed me. I'm a customer and it doesn't seem like anyone else is around.'

"Well," The man spoke aloud, his voice soft at breaking the silence of the room, "I was hoping to find a souvenir for my brother. I thought there would be more places in Paris to go souvenir shopping, but it seems there aren't many. I'm just relieved to have found this one, I guess." The man was twisting the handle of his umbrella in his hands, the tip resting half on the mat below him and half on the tiled floor of the shop. It wasn't unusual for one to carry an umbrella around the city, being under the threat of rain so often.

Francis paused for a moment before he spoke again. He had noticed that the man's accent was different somehow than the traditional ones he heard from day-to-day. Perhaps he was a tourist. "No, many of the stands have closed for the season I'm afraid. I'm sorry... but your accent. It is not French."

The man across looked surprised before saying, "No. I'm from Quebec. I am attending school here at the moment."

Francis' eyebrows perked up. "Oh, then you are not a tourist after all!" Francis had been quite perplexed by the man's request for finding a souvenir yet non-touristy appearance. It made sense now, though there was still one last thing that Francis was wondering. "It is a little early for souvenirs when you have an entire semester ahead of you, isn't it?"

The man shrugged. "My brother wanted me to send something over right when I got here. I've only been here a week and he's been blowing up my Skype five times a day in at least 200 message intervals."

"You are shipping all the way back to Quebec?" Francis asked.

"Actually, Alfred is going to school in America this semester. I don't think he understands how much international shipping costs. That, or the more likely answer that he doesn't care.

Francis laughed which seemed to take the other off guard. "Let me help you find the perfect souvenir then. Did you have anything in mind? If not, do not worry, I get that often."

"Actually, yeah. Alfred had one request, though I understand if you guys don't have it."

"I'm sure we'll be able to figure it out. What does this brother of yours want? Francis Bonnefoy is at your service."

"Matthew Williams." The man responded. Most people passed right over his introduction to go right into what they were in search for. It was nice for a change that the man- Matthew, it seemed- hadn't done the same. For once, Francis wasn't missing the business of many tourists packed into the shop, in favor now of Matthew's company. "Alfred wants... well, to put it simply, something inappropriate with the Eiffel Tower on it.

"Oh." Francis almost laughed. Americans were always the ones who wanted those silly type things. Hiding his smirk behind his hand, Francis started to lead the way to a table on the right wall. "Right this way."

Upon arriving at the table, Francis pretended to scan the items for what Matthew was looking for. Of course, Francis already knew they carried no such thing having nothing else to do in the past weeks than sort and fold the shirts in the store continuously. If anything, it was a reason to keep the man around for a bit longer. Francis craved interaction with another human being and this one happened to be quite cute.

Francis shook his head. "It seems we do not have anything of the sort. We do have a few other things that might be of interest, though."

"I figured as much. Alfred tried to get the same thing when we went to Florida last year, but still to no avail."

"How tragic. Now the world will be deprived of such humor from an overpriced t-shirt." Francis joked, sensing Matthew's jesting exasperation.

The man and him continued to chat as Francis helped him to find a souvenir for his brother. They joked a little and soon Francis felt almost as if their jesting had turned into a light game of flirting. Francis' gaze kept flickering to the man out of the corner of his eye and their laughter filled the air between them. When finally Matthew had picked a shirt for his brother Francis led him to the register where he could ring him up.

"Hey, um," The man scratched his neck and Francis looked up from where he scanned the shirt's price tag, "Well, I'm pretty new here and haven't gotten around to really making friends yet, but there's a new movie out that I've been thinking of seeing..."

Francis eyebrows shot up when he saw where this was going. Butterflies flew around in his stomach, tickling the walls of his belly and fluttering in a mass.

"I was wondering if you wanted to go with me? I saw a movie theater down the block, so I could pick you up here..."

Francis couldn't help the sweet smile that grew on his face as his thoughts turned giddy with anticipation and excitement. "I would love to."

Matthew relieved his neck of his insistent scratching then and a genuine smile crept to his face. "Okay." And, after they made plans to meet there at the shop they were standing in on Saturday evening, Francis watched Matthew exit the shop with umbrella in one hand, souvenir in the other. He continued to watch him walk down the streets, only realizing now that the clouds had gone away leaving a clear blue sky to shine on the day.


	2. Bright to Blurry

Stars shone above, brightly illuminating the sky despite the absence of the moon that evening. Francis had recalled seeing it was the night of the new moon that month but one wouldn't have even noticed with how brightly the stars seemed to shine. It was as if they were determined to not let the darkness overtake them and scare everyone away. They twinkled very proudly knowing of their capabilities in illuminating the sky without their cratery luminous friend.

Francis was smiling. It was the kind of smile that one just could not help. Francis naturally smiled, but this wasn't because of habit. The man beside him seemed to have some sort of magical effect that made him so _happy_. Perhaps it was the way Matthew looked at him, a hint of shyness in his own eyes but never averting them when Francis' own made eye contact. Maybe it was the fact that the Canadian knew just how to make Francis laugh, telling ridiculous jokes and puns then acting as if he was appalled by the very nature of puns or recounting stories from when him and his brother would get into trouble as kids. It seemed that everything the man did somehow made him smile and sent a spiral of endearment into his heart for the man.

"There are simply things you just do not do, Matthew!" Francis feigned shock at the tale the young man had just finished about his thirteenth birthday.

"She said I could have anything I wanted for dinner! Besides, it was Alfred's idea!" Matthew was laughing, looking at Francis as they walked down the sidewalk of the park arm in arm.

"' _Anything_ ' shouldn't mean a bottle of every type of maple syrup on the market! How did you even manage to eat dinner that night?"

" _Lots_ of pancakes. My mom was skeptical at first but after the feast was ready we all had a blast. We did blind taste tests and mixed them to make weird syrupy concoctions and Al made the mistake of using some cheap napkins to try to get the syrup off of his fingers. He had bits of paper all over his fingers and somehow it ended up in my hair!"

Francis couldn't hold back his laughter and clung to the other's arm harder as he bent over chuckling. "My, Matthew! Your family sounds wonderful. Your mother must be quite the woman to put up with you and your brother through all of your mischief."

"Oh yes. Mom sure had a lot to deal with." Matthew chuckled a little on his own, "What about you? What's your family like?"

Francis turned the other way. His smile was still in place but it was no longer carefree and joyful. Now Francis' eyes looked slightly dampened, almost wistful, and definitely sad. "My family..." He whispered to the air then turned back to the other and spoke in a pensive manner, "I never knew them."

"Oh." Matthew responded. Francis was now looking again at the stars. They winked at him, suggesting secrets they could only know of the man. "Might I ask why?"

Francis shrugged silently. "I don't know, really. I had adoptive parents and they made it clear from the time I could understand that one: I was not their actual son and two: I was not to ask about my real parents. So I never came to find out... if they gave me up... if they had died..."

The conversation already had taken Francis' train of thought elsewhere. Who had his parents been? Why had he never been with them? These questions had swirled in his head since he could remember, yet he had never been able to voice them aloud. Nonetheless, they would be answered one day and, if they kept up their end of the deal, it would be very soon. But they never held up their end, did they? And Francis never let go because he was desperate- oh so very desperate. And the time was coming around again soon, wasn't it? It was September already; he didn't have time. He didn't have time...

Suddenly Francis found it very hard to see the stars in the night. The sky had become so blurry and the stars were melding together to make strange starburst-looking forms. As the tears sprouted from his navy eyes the Frenchman discreetly tried to wipe them away before the man beside him could see. Francis should have known that Matthew wasn't that oblivious, though. The Canadian was the most observant man Francis had come to know.

"Hey," They had stopped and Matthew was facing him, hands resting on Francis' upper arms and eyes in an unbreakable lock with the other's. Francis found himself holding his breath. "There's no need to cry." He didn't say it as if the very notion of the man's tears were ridiculous, but instead talked with understanding in his voice. "What are the tears for, eh?"

Francis shut his eyes when he found himself able to unlock them from Matthew's and shook his head insistently. This was a secret protected by Francis to his grave... a secret he had kept since his birth. He used to keep it in blind faith; now he kept it for survival. When he opened his eyes again, Francis found the other still watching him, open for any words that the Frenchman might have trusted him with. When there was no indication of a change in mind from Francis, though, Matthew turned with a slight nod, relenting politely to the other man's wishes. This was only the second time they had met, anyway and Francis felt Matthew knew where the lines were.

"Tears on a first date." Francis sighed at his own behavior. "It is exactly how you pictured this date to go, no?"

The light mood was back and Matthew chuckled once more. "I've had worse. Besides, my mom always says that tears are like messages. So the message I'm getting now is that this must have been the worst date ever." Matthew's teasing tone was unmistakable and Francis put on a pretense of offense.

"Why, Matthew, is my company really so terrible to be in?"

Matthew's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Wh-? You know that's not what I meant!"

"I do not know what to believe anymore then!" Francis' smile was leaking through and Matthew laughed.

And the two continued through the park, gazing up at the stars, telling bad puns, old stories, and sharing laughter in the surprising brightness of the night. In this moment Francis found it very easy to forget that this wouldn't last long... he only had a month...

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 _ **A/N: Hello again! Here's the second chapter for the second day! Hope you liked it. See you tomorrow with the next one!**_


	3. Grey

Francis sat on the petite couch in his cozy apartment sitting room sipping a steaming cup of dark roasted coffee as he stared at across the narrow room. His gaze was fixed on the most threatening object in his whole place of living... perhaps the most dangerous object in the whole building.

It was a simple telephone. One of those ones that sat on a small side table and connected to the wall by a long cord and another long spiraling cord led to the receiver. It was red and it had nine buttons on its face just as any other phone. These phones were not common nowadays, but Francis used it for a single occasion- an occasion that hadn't come up in almost six months.

Almost unconsciously, Francis glanced to his desk calendar he had bought at the turn of this year to hang on his refrigerator. It was one of the ones from the very same souvenir shop he worked at with landscapes and tourist spots of France, but Francis had liked it very much. January was never a happy time of year for him and he had needed a little reminder from day-to-day of what awaited him during the summer months of the year. He hadn't needed the calendar to take comfort in for almost six months. The lucky number six. The death sentence in this current case.

And, according to the precious little calendar, his six months were over in three days. If they were fair he would receive the first call after the marker of the first day of October. They always found this day flexible though and Francis knew that he could receive the call any day now.

Francis was knocked out of his thoughts as knuckles tapped on the apartment door. Francis' heart leaped as he knew there was only one person it could be. Placing his coffee carefully on the table next to the couch, another one far away from the one where the red phone rested, Francis quickly shuffled over to the door. Once the barrier between them was removed Francis threw himself into a hug with the person on the opposite side of the door.

"Oh!" Matthew exclaimed as he caught the other.

"Matthew, what are you doing here? I thought you had class today!" Francis inquired as he pulled back and looked at the man with the purple eyes and red windbreaker.

"The professor was sick today so we didn't have class. I thought I'd come over here and see if you wanted to hang out or something?" The Canadian scratched his head as if unsure if his coming unannounced would be taken kindly. Francis had noticed that along with the man's shy nature there was also a fair share of hesitance in the way he approached things which naturally only made him all the more endearing to the Frenchman.

"Of course, _mon cher_! Life has been horribly boring without you these past few days!" It had been weeks since their first date and there had been many more along with simple occasions where they would sit and watch television together or run errands. Life had certainly gotten all the better since Matthew had made his debut into Francis' daily existence and the needed company was only half of the delight.

The attraction Francis felt for Matthew was undeniable. Matthew made him laugh and smile and Francis always wanted the other with him. He missed him when he was gone and it was a joy like no other when Matthew was around. Francis liked to cuddle close to him when they watched TV on the couch and loved when they walked arm in arm down the street on their way to a movie or the grocery store. Sure, Francis had been on dates before. He had had boyfriends and girlfriends before. But Francis had never felt this way before. Surely he couldn't have fallen in love with someone in less than a month...

"Sit down. I'll go and get dressed and then we can go do something." Francis gestured to the couch and stepped over to the door to his bedroom to change out of his 'stay at home' attire. Before Francis could slip away though, Matthew spoke up.

"But where are we going? What will we do?"

"Anything away from here, Matthew." Francis shot a look at the red phone that sat right outside his door, "I'm sick of being indoors."

That day was perhaps not the best for being sick of the indoors. Nevertheless, Francis and Matthew found themselves out there under the stark grey sky, wrapped in thin coats and wind which whipped them from all sides and enveloped them so tightly the wind itself felt like another layer of clothing. Francis didn't mind it as much as he might have on any normal day, though. For one, he was out of his apartment and away from that dreadful bearer of bad news. For another, the powerful wind just gave him another excuse to stand closer to the blonde-haired man next to him and cling to his arm tighter. Going by the silly smile on the other's face, Matthew didn't seem to mind much either.

"I'm surprised there's so much wind in the city! Shouldn't the buildings block most of this?" Matthew yelled through almost physical barrier of wind between them.

"I don't know!" Francis shouted back, "Let us find some sort of shelter, though!"

Matthew said something but the wind was too loud and Francis eventually just pulled the other to a store at the corner of the street. It was open going by the light streaming through the window and looked like a warm, quiet place to take refuge.

A little bell tinkled to warn their entrance like so many of the quaint shops in the city. Finally Francis could attempt to hear the one beside him and turned to ask, " _Pardon_ , what was that you were saying?" The sound of his voice in the shop made his eyes dart around to see if anyone had heard. It wouldn't have been necessarily terrible if someone had heard his words but it was so quiet in there. He suddenly had the urge to whisper everything he said.

"I was just pointing out that the whole reason we left your apartment was because you were sick of the indoors. Now it seems we are indoors again."

"Well the weather isn't really giving us a choice in the matter, is it?" Francis whispered then smirked as he scanned what they had stepped into.

It was a book shop. Bookshelves almost crowded into the shop with many more books piled high on them. The books seemed to be well taken care of despite the sheer quantity that should have made it impossible and the shop even had enough room for cozy armchairs to fit squished between the shelves. The light they had seen through the windows seemed a lot brighter from the outside as every light bulb that illuminated the shop came from a well placed lamp. There was one placed on the check-out table where people would bring their finds in the seemingly unorganized store and there was one closely fit between one of the tall shelves and the ceiling. Going by the light that softly lay over the rest of the store, Francis expected there were many more scattered about the store in odd nooks and crannies.

Taking Matthew by the arm, Francis began leading him away from the awkward positions they had taken in standing at the door and navigated them through the mazes of bookshelves until they had reached the other side of the building. Here, natural light flooded through a window wedged between two shelves and seemingly sitting right atop a large overly stuffed chair, beat up in places but looking to be extremely comfortable the more Francis stared at it.

"So, we're stuck in here for a while?" Matthew wondered aloud. Francis sighed and led him over to the chair by the window where they both sat down. It was a tight fit, but they were used to a close proximity by then despite the fact that a light blush powdered across Francis' cheeks every time. Snuggled there, watching the drab sky out the window the two talked in hushed yet conversational tones. Talking to Matthew had always been natural to Francis, but, with the many weeks they had spent together, it was as if no line of conversation was out-of-bounds. Francis felt free as a bird when talking to Matthew... mostly, at least. There was one thing Francis didn't talk about with Matthew...

But that was the last thing on his mind on this dull, grey, yet extremely comfortable day that he was spending with none other than his favorite person. Currently, they were discussing the Canadian's schooling. Francis already knew what the man was studying: French, and that he had come here to become fluent and learn the country's history and culture. Francis already knew what school was like for Matthew currently- they talked about it nearly everyday... professors, studying, favorite classes... No. What Francis was really curious about was of Matthew's past. He had so many sweet and hilarious stories of the Canadian's past, yet the man never seemed to talk about his younger education. For something that took up most people's early childhood, one would think it would at least be mentioned in passing.

The past was a dangerous topic; Francis knew this. He was just so tempted to ask- so curious to know. Surely, after a small discussion over the report Matthew had slaved over the previous night, it couldn't be too abnormal to bring up the question that had only cropped up in the Frenchman's mind seconds before. "College seems to be so taxing on you, mon cher. Was your high school experience the same? Don't tell me you've always been this perfect and studious!"

It wasn't that Matthew's demeanor had soured after the question. Such a statement just would not be fair on the man. There was something there, though. Something different. One moment he had been smiling and his eyes had been open and trusting. The next, Matthew was wearing his signature uneasy appearance. Hesitance had crept into his eyes and he had begun to worry at his lip, eyes darting around the shop as if he was unsure of where to settle them. "Yeah, something like that." Was his quick response. Francis' eyebrows escalated on his face in a questioning look.

" _D'accord_." Francis said, face still in a puzzled expression. He almost let it go, but... "You never seem to talk about school... I mean, were you home-schooled? It seems most of your stories took place at your house."

Matthew shook his head, looking to be trying to shrug off his own discomfort. It didn't seem to be working. "No. Both Alfred and I went to public school. There's not much to really talk about school, I guess. I never really had any friends there anyway."

"What? Preposterous! You are much too friendly to claim to not have had friends!"

Matthew merely shrugged again. He gave a laugh that Francis felt was supposed to come out convincingly but came out humorless and forced. "It's not really that big of a deal. I did what I was supposed to in school. I studied. I got good grades. When I came up friendless after all that time in school before high school I just figured, eh, why try? I mean, I'll have time to make friends later in life."

Francis was silent for a moment, taking his time to absorb the information just given to him. When Francis finally looked up, he slipped his hand in the other's and squeezed reassuringly. "May I give my opinion, Matthew?" After a pause, Francis took the silence as a 'yes'. "Life is the most unpredictable thing. If you haven't realized that in all this time then I'm afraid you're behind. Working, studying, having fun, loving. There has to be a balance yet that balance is impossible to obtain because life will just want to screw you over. You work so hard to create a future and convince yourself that you'll have plenty of time for the wonderful things in life when it's all over but life doesn't owe you that much. Life can take itself away from you anytime it wants and it won't care how many regrets you'll be leaving or plans you had made. So, if you were to die right now, would you be happy with all of the work you've put in?"

There was a still silence between them as if either were afraid to so much as breath in the empty space. Francis continued. "In high school I didn't have many friends either. I didn't want friends. I didn't want... people to get close to me." Francis had never told anyone this, but he trusted Matthew and he wanted to tell him. There was no logical explanation _why_. Francis mouth just compelled him to speak the words and his emotions didn't put up a barrier or get in his way. It was as if all of him was submitting to this yearning- this desire to tell Matthew everything about himself... the good things, the bad, the regrets and anguish. "But then I met two people and before I knew it, they had become the closest people in my life. I had no idea how, but I had two close friends in my final year of high school." Francis' heart felt light, remembering just what it had been like to live in those days with abandon. Then, all at once, the feeling soured and he felt the metaphorical strings that suspended his heart stretch as it grew heavier in his chest.

"They both... died that year." Francis' gaze was out the window again. It seemed the sky compelled him to look whatever time of day it was or whatever weather was out. "I don't think I need to paint a picture for you to understand how that must have made me feel. I know you can understand." Matthew may not have had friends, but his brother and his mother were the closest people in his life. If it were them... Francis knew Matthew could definitely understand. "I felt a lot of things when it happened..." _Grief. Fear. Denial. Rage. Betrayal. Guilt. Unbearable, undeniable, heavy, toxic, harsh and bitter and unforgiving_ _ **guilt**_. "But out of everything I never felt regret. No... let me rephrase that. I never wished I had never met them or that I had gotten so close to them. If it meant keeping the wonderful feelings of having friends so close to your heart then I would suffer through those terrible emotions that racked me when they were gone a thousand times over." Francis finished. He hadn't realized it, but trough his entire speech he had maintained his whispering voice that they had adopted for the quiet shop. Quiet tears were streaming down his face.

Francis felt Matthew's hands enveloping his own. When had that happened? Then, it was as if Matthew's whole body enveloped him. His embrace was warm and his arms were strong and the shirt beneath his windbreaker where Francis tucked his head was becoming damp from his salty tears. Francis held on tight to the man in front of him, feeling his emotions tide like the great waves in a storm. Francis didn't know what made him say it, but the net thing that came out of his mouth was a small request, almost a plea. "Let's go outside." The little bookshop was becoming too cozy for him and he needed something biting to snap him out of his daze. He had revealed too much, hadn't he? He felt bare. He felt like Matthew could see every secret he was holding... why his friends had died... what Francis had done... what kind of person he was.

The whipping wind woke Francis up faster than if someone had slapped him as they stepped outside. It was still at full force, but Francis didn't grab hold of Matthew's arm this time. This time he walked slightly ahead, leading the way if the other wished to follow. Francis honestly didn't know where he was going. He knew the streets like the back of his hand, or the red telephone in his room, or the sight of blood- crimson, sticky, puddles and ponds of it, dark and deep as if seeing your own reflection in it could transport you to another dimension. He could tell the dumbest tourist how to get to the most secluded area in the massive city, yet he was lost in what he was looking for now. Perhaps the reason being, Francis had no idea what he was looking for.

Finally stopping, he realized they had come to a square with a beautiful fountain in the center of it. Only the two of them occupied the streets being the only ones stupid enough to explore in this weather. This fountain... Francis knew it. He cursed his legs in every way he could for taking him here. Here... here where-

"Francis?" The Frenchman heard his name being called from behind him and he spun around. Matthew smiled, understanding in his eyes and kind words on his lips. He stepped forward to get closer to Francis. "Even if you think you have no one... well, you have me. You don't have to have me, of course, but, if you choose to, I'm right here."

Francis took a step forward too. He wanted to be closer. His heart was thumping and he found himself holding his breath as Matthew took another step closer. There was no space between them. They looked directly into each other's eyes and Francis caught the flit of eyelashes as if they were caught in slow motion. Every moment was embedding itself into his memory, never to be forgotten.

"I suppose I must choose you then." Francis meant for it to sound teasing, perhaps a bit sarcastic, but his breathless speaking butchered it. Not that he cared much after what happened next.

Under that bleak grey sky a spark was lit. A contrast divided between the weather and the world as Matthew pressed his lips against Francis'. Everything sprung into color and light and promise and Francis was short of breath as he kissed Matthew, the only person that mattered in his wrecked and ruined life- the only one Francis really had and the only one he needed. For anyone else that day the world had been dark and grey. For the two standing near a large fountain in the streets of Paris it was as vivid and vibrant as a colorfully painted canvas.

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 _ **A/N: Here's another! Also, I'm an idiot and didn't see until now that the contest extended. The deadline is now August 1st. I'm not sure what that will mean for this story... but if it interests anyone, you should totally participate! Rules are on** matthewwillcanada **'s Tumblr blog, so go and check it out! Good day everyone!**_


	4. Shower to Storm

Francis was watching the sky again. It had become a compulsion as of late: to watch the weather and stars and sun and clouds. That day the sun couldn't be seen as it was hid behind grey clouds that spread across the whole sky. Rain showered across the city and Francis could smell its distinct scent from his open window. Though the rain was not touching him, he could feel its coolness and from his position standing at the far end of his apartment right at the opening he could hear the drops hitting roof tops and paved streets and plastic umbrellas.

Over the past few days Francis had been more than nervous. His six months had ended six days ago... they had never taken this long to call... that red telephone could ring any minute...

But, on that particular morning, Francis felt none of the nervousness that had been his life that week for one simple reason: Matthew was visiting that day. Francis had promised to teach him his favorite recipes, most being of the baked goods nature, and it was the only thing on his mind. So when a knock sounded at the Frenchman's door at 9:30 that morning, the leap it resulted in was not one of surprise or fright, but of excitement.

Francis pulled his Canadian inside and greeted him with a kiss and a sweet smile, feeling a blush spread across his cheeks at the touching of their lips. It had mostly become commonplace now but it still served to create a flush across the man's face whenever it happened. When they were both in the small kitchen of the Frenchman's apartment, Francis started to explain.

"So, there is something very important you must promise me if I am to teach you my recipes. Can you do that?" Francis looked the man in the eyes, the stunning lilac or violet or mauve eyes that he could never make up his mind to which it was.

"That depends on the promise, I suppose." Matthew teased lightly with a small smile on his face and mischief in his eyes.

"These recipes, they are top-secret. No one is to ever know what it is that makes my delicacies. I am trusting you will information so delicate that it could tip the planet if it were to be exposed." Francis paused for dramatic effect. "Can I trust you with such knowledge?"

Matthew's eyes were aglow as he answered. "On my honor."

" _Bonne_." Francis turned to retrieve his recipe book from one of the cabinets. It was a simple red binder that had the word 'Recipes' scripted in curvy lettering on the cover. As Francis started flipping through the pages, many typed yet still many penned in Francis' own handwriting- all by Francis' own creation- he casually threw one last comment over his shoulder. "Oh, and I listen to swing when I'm baking." The smirk on his face wouldn't seem to fade, not that Francis really wanted it to.

It wasn't long until the music of the 40's was whirling through the room and both men were covered in flour, the pastries long forgotten as the two had started to dance to the swaying music in the limited space of the kitchen. Due to their inability to avoid colliding with the walls and cabinets in the narrow space, they were both unable to hold back their laugh at the silliness of it.

"Okay, okay Matthew. I am afraid we really must get back to the baking. I believe we are neglecting our duties to the macaroons." Francis said, letting go of the other to turn back to the counter.

"I'm sure the macaroons are patient." Matthew said as he grabbed Francis' hand and lifted it as if waiting for Francis to twirl under it. When Francis complied in the little dance move he found himself facing Matthew again, but, before he could say another word pertaining to their negligence of the pastries, he was silenced by a kiss from the other. For once, Francis couldn't feel the light pink that shined on his face. He couldn't think of anything in that moment, only of the lips on his and Matthew before him.

It didn't last long, though, and when the broke apart Francis kept his face near Matthew's, smiling lightly. It was peaceful, nice just to stand there with only each other as company and the music in the background and the smear of flour on Matthew's face and every detail that Francis could absorb about those lone minutes enjoyed in just centimeters apart. Francis could still hear the showering rain outside and felt very relaxed in the brightly lit kitchen. It was more than Francis could ever ask for.

Then everything shattered at the bright shrill of a telephone. Francis' world crumbled as he heard the ringing, a sound too tangible to have come from any mobile. The ring was loud, insistent, panic inducing, heart wrenching. Francis backed up and hit his hip against the counter-top, gripping the edge he had hit as if it was his only lifeline. His navy eyes were wide and panicked and his shoulders trembled under the pressing sound of the ring. It felt like forever that he stood there until Matthew's voice broke his eyes away from the door that would lead him to the next room- the room he kept the red telephone, the phone that received calls for only one reason.

"Francis? What's wrong? It's just the phone..." Francis didn't hear the rest of what the other had to say because he was already walking out of the room, heading mechanically to the side table outside his bedroom, beside the television and resting a lamp and telephone. Francis knew he couldn't ignore the call. He felt Matthew's eyes on him from where he stood in the kitchen's doorway watching. He knew he would have to change his demeanor quickly if he were to convince the man who nothing was wrong.

The receiver was heavy in his hand as he picked it up. Carefully, Francis set it against his ear and spoke into it. " _Bonjour_." Was the Frenchman's simple response to the call. He hoped Matthew did not notice the odd choice in wording, as to answer the red telephone it was custom to give his coded greeting instead of the traditional ' _Allô_ ' heard in normal calls. Now it was time to make the call look less threatening, so Francis put up his facade and talked pleasantly into the phone despite the words hitting him blow-by-blow from the other end. His world was falling apart. His freedom was being snatched right before his eyes.

Upon hanging up, Francis turned back to Matthew, smiling good-naturedly. "Who was it?" Matthew asked, worry still lacing his features.

"Oh, just the telephone company. These silly landlines might be out for a few hours they said, so if I can't make calls from it I shouldn't worry. Our mobiles should be fine, though." Francis felt guilty at how easily he could lie to Matthew. The smile on his face felt like poison.

"Oh," Matthew said, somewhat placated, yet still not seemingly fully convinced, "Why were you so worried before?"

"It's nothing." Francis quickly waved it away, not wanting to have to lie to the other again. "Why don't we get back to baking?"

Matthew looked like he wanted to press the subject, but Francis passed him into the kitchen before he could ask again. He knew whatever else Matthew wanted could only be solved with a lie and he didn't want to lie again.

Francis' heart was no longer in the baking though. He could only think about the call. The words from the other end still rang in his ears much like the scream of that ringing. He was back into their nightmare, but ti was different this time. He had someone close... the last time he had had someone close... No. Francis squeezed shut his eyes as he stared at the counter. How had this happened? He wasn't supposed to get close to people. This couldn't have happened in the one month he had known Matthew.

Yet, it was undeniable now to Francis that he was in love with Matthew... a reality that could only end in misfortune.

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 _ **A/N: Hey guys! I wanted to say thank you to everyone who has read, favorited, followed, or reviewed this story! You guys are the best! One chapter left; I'll see you guys tomorrow!**_


	5. Purple to Orange

_**A/N: Before we begin I'd like to thank all who have read, favorited, and followed this fic! Thank you to** gdesertsand **and** North of the North **for reviewing! So here's the last chapter! Thank you guys for following along and enjoy!**_

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Francis had never had a family of his own. He never knew his parents and his adoptive parents were always quick to point out that they were not, in fact, them. Francis never understood why they even took care of him if they hadn't ever wanted a child of their own. The man and woman he called ' _maman_ ' and ' _papa_ ' didn't even seem to enjoy being near each other. Why marry then?

Francis never got answers to any of these questions. He learned early on to not ask them and, though he often still wondered, he still never did. He only saw his 'family' during the winter holidays and that was plenty for him. He only saw them then because it was required for their line of work.

No, not as cashier at a souvenir shop in the center of Paris, Francis' other job. The one he had been sucked into since he was little, the same work his 'parents' partook in, and the worst months of Francis' life.

For reasons unknown to him, the idea of training little Francis had come to his parents' employer and from age six Francis had been doing different jobs around for them. As he got older, he started to realize just how dangerous these jobs were and even older how wrong it was for him to assist. But he was too young to defy and so he waited out the days until he was of legal age to leave his parents- and their unsavory business- behind.

Of course, Francis was too impatient to wait and he tried to break free early. He had met two people, the only people he had come to love in his whole life, and he had told them everything. They had prompted him to leave, told him that what they were forcing him to do wasn't right and that he should run away. They would have taken care of him had they succeeded, but the boss always knew. The boss knew Francis had told them too much and it wasn't long before he struck to teach the boy a lesson. Francis' two best friends were dead, just like that.

First, Francis blamed the boss and the whole business. They were all evil. They were corrupt and Francis desperately wanted to get away. Then, Francis bitterness evaporated as painful thoughts filled his head. Truths he did not want to face and lies that constructed walls around him. One thought consumed him then: It had been his fault they had died.

Francis had told them too much, things he had been told would be dangerous to tell anyone. He hadn't been there to protect them. He shouldn't have gotten close to them like that in the first place. In the end, he continued working for these people who had long ago replaced any ideas of family he might have had and kept his head low and guard up. If he stayed away from people, no one could get hurt.

His boss took pity on him, though. Why he did this, Francis never knew why, just like with so many other things in his life. Everything seemed to be a puzzle to Francis. A massive, unsolvable puzzle. The business had hatched a deal with him: He would work with them for half of the year, give his best work, no complaining and no telling. For six months he would work loyally for them and the other six months Francis could choose what to do with his life. He could live and he could be free. He was the tale of Persephone, brought to life in a little boy from Paris.

As much as Francis loved this freedom, though, he couldn't help feeling like it was some sort of punishment he had been given. It was as if they trapped him in a cage in those six winter months only to release him to another cage, equal in size and different in nature. He was still trapped and there was no way out.

Francis tried to enjoy himself. He worked where he could keep busy and interact with many kinds of people. He kept a quaint apartment where he could spend the entire year, regardless of what job he was keeping and what half of the year it was. He never got too close to people, as if watching them from a glass bubble, like he was trapped inside one of those ridiculous snow globes they sold at the shop. He chatted and smiled and sometimes offered his name, but the surface was the only place he would allow others and searching the curious eyes of others was as far as he went to them.

That was, until a charming man stepped into that souvenir shop on the off-season of touring and claimed to be searching for a gift for his brother. Without realizing it, the glass had burst around him and the water of his snow-globe pooled around the floor and the tiny fake snowflakes blinded Francis of the danger in front of him... the danger of proximity and the inevitable fall. Francis shook his head at the weak thoughts that managed to fight through his blindness insisting how terrible the idea would be to accept the man's proposal for a date.

"One date would not harm." He remembered repeating to himself in the days between his first and second meeting with the man he had met, the man he had come to fall in love with after only a month of knowing him, a man named Matthew.

Yet, here he was, the sky was orange and a heavy hunk of metal was in his hands, falling from his hands, clanking on the ground yet none of its noise reaching his ears. Francis had made a grave mistake... no, this couldn't have been happening...

Francis shakes his head, willing his distracted mind away. He didn't have time for this. Francis yawned, looking at the clock and groaning. 4:14am. Why did the jobs always have to be at some godforsaken hour of the day?

Francis looked down at his entirely black attire then at the purpling sky outside. The sun would be rising soon, yet Francis still hasn't received the call...

As if right on cue, the red phone he was sitting beside begun to ring. He immediately picked it up, standing himself off of the couch and walking to the window, letting the telephone's cord stretch out behind him. He needn't say anything across the line but his introductory line and a few words of understanding. When the line went dead, Francis was left to place the phone back in its place and carefully unlock the drawer of the table it sat on.

Inside lay a gun before Francis picked it up and shut the drawer again with a slide and snap, not bothering to lock it again. Then, Francis walked out of the apartment, ready to get this over with.

The streets were quiet and the sky was lighting, enough that the stars were staring to fade yet still not so the sun or any of its colors leaked through. This was meant to be a simple job for him to step back into. It could be quick and he would be out fast, his black clothing helping him to blend in with the darkness that still painted the streets.

Francis' heart was pumping. He hadn't had to do this in so long. It was dangerous. It made him sad and guilty to hold the heavy instrument in his hand and pull his finger back until... until...

 _Ba-bum_.

His heart spoke to him, pulling him into fight or flight territory. Francis wanted to flee, to run all the way home and to perhaps see Matthew the next day. Francis wanted to see his smile and hear his laughter and dance around like they had the other day before the ringing filled their ears, or gaze at the stars like they had on their first date.

 _Ba-bum_.

Francis remembered looking at the calendar this morning as he had impatiently been waiting for his call. That silly scenic calendar, magnetized to his fridge with a magnet that had a little smiley face on it. It was a month since his and Matthew's first date. Maybe Francis would call him later and see if he wanted to do anything. They hadn't planned on doing anything the two still shy over the whole 'couple' thing, but now Francis wanted nothing more than to be with the other.

 _Ba-bum_.

To curl up on his apartment sofa with arms wrapped around each other. Maybe they would look at the sky out of the window. Maybe they would watch some silly television show they found on one of the channels.

 _Ba-bum_.

He just had to get this over with... Leave this sorrow and forget his guilt and race back to the one he loved. Because he loved Matthew. It was dangerous and stupid and it made Francis want to cry... from happiness... from guilt... from sorrow... from regret... Why did he deserve to be with someone like Matthew when all he has ever done is cause pain and grief and ruined innocent people's lives? How could he stay with Matthew when everyday puts the other more and more in danger?

 _Ba-bum_.

Francis feet still tapped steadily at the pavement below him when he heard it. He hadn't even arrived at his destination yet, the night sky seemed to be melting away when the sound of shuffling behind him caused his fight or flight reaction to scream: _Get away_! Someone was following him. It didn't take years of experience to realize this.

Years of experience, years of training, and years of pressure could not have helped with the panic that suddenly overtook Francis then. He could not run; he could only fight.

"Francis-" The sun was slowly creeping its way through the sky and Francis could see through the orange hue in the air the face of the man behind him. The man who now had a large red stain soaking the front of his bright red hoodie, a hoodie that the man had let Francis himself where the week before when he had gotten cold at the shops. The hoodie was becoming darker and darker with the blood that soaked it.

The sound of metal clanging against pavement rung in Francis' ears as he ran the short distance between himself and the man, falling to his knees beside the man who had hit the pavement. He was crying, sobbing. It was uncontrollable and it took all the discipline he had in him to immediately start putting pressure to the wound.

"M- Matthew?" His voice cracked as a look of confusion crossed the man's face, then it seemed as if all emotion drained from his face as his gaze fixed on the sky ahead.

Francis couldn't see as the sky turned orange, only the man in front of him, taken from him forever... taken by his own hands...

The shades of the sky always reminded him of Matthew.


End file.
